Chapter 2 A Maenad’s Tale #3
“With me, it does. Here.” His other hand lifted from the bar so that he could offer his wrist. “Lick it.”
It wasn’t until he picked up the salt shaker the bartender had brought with our shots that I realized what he was doing. As if I were in a trance, I leaned down and licked the arm of a complete stranger.
Behind me, his whole body shivered. Mine did the same. I must have been really drunk, because this man was freaking delicious.
He sprinkled his dampened wrist with the salt, then leaned down to run his nose over my neck. “May I?”
I wasn’t exactly sure what he was asking, but I wanted to know, so I nodded. “Sh-sure.”
His tongue took a generous swipe at the base of my neck. “Fuck.” His voice shook slightly. “You taste a treat, sweetheart.”
Somewhere in there, the r of sweetheart flattened, like some friends I knew from the Northeast. It made me shiver.
He applied salt to the spot he’d just licked, then pulled our shots closer along with the cut limes served in a ramekin before offering me his salted wrist. “Cheers, little nymph.”
Without thinking twice, I licked his wrist again, this time a bit more than was strictly necessary to get all the salt, then tipped back the best tequila I’d ever had in my life and followed it with the lime.
By the time I was finished, the stranger’s knuckles had gone white from gripping the bar so hard. “Jesus. That tongue is fuckin’ wicked.”
I grinned, hoping he could see me in the mirror. Yes, that accent was definitely from Boston. “Your turn.”
“With relish.”
When his mouth found my neck again, it was like touching a live wire. His tongue swirled over the salt like he was enjoying a lollipop, then he proceeded to suck hard enough that I moaned. Moments later, he released my skin with the pop of his mouth before grabbing the tequila and lime.
“Tell me something.” His voice was a bit hoarser when he returned the empty shot glass to the bar, the sucked lime tucked into it. His fingers tugged on the straps of my dress, tied around my neck. “Does a girl like you often wear dresses like this?”
I sucked in a breath as the tequila—or maybe it was just him—heated my belly. “What makes you think I’m any kind of girl?”
“You danced like you were surprising yourself. Like you were trying on someone else’s skin.” He gave a pull, undoing the knot. One more tug, and my top would fall down completely. “Am I wrong?”
I couldn’t move as the hand pulled the string just a little more.
I straightened my shoulders. He could dare all he wanted. My tequila-fueled bravery was fighting this battle for me. Not Laney was shameless. “Maybe I wanted to feel different. Just for one night.”
“How’s that working out for you?”
I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him in profile again. Good God, that jaw could slice every lime in the place.
“Too soon to tell,” I whispered.
That seemed to mollify him. He quickly retied my dress, then settled his hands at my waist. He had big hands, so large they nearly touched.
His lips brushed the top of my ear as he pulled me so my back was flush against his front. “Shall I help you decide?”
Every retort I had died in my throat as one of those broad hands slid down over the silk, past my hip, and found the slit in my dress.
I bit back a gasp. “What?”
His fingertips traced the exposed skin of my thigh. “This was particularly unfair of you. Torture, in fact. I couldn’t stop watching it every time you moved, waiting to see what it might reveal. Would you let me find out now?”
Maybe I should have pushed his hand away.
But I—or maybe it was Not Laney—simply didn’t want to.
Instead, I allowed the stranger to explore the break in my skirt below the edge of the bar, under the shadow of his imposing build.
Moments later, I rocked back and bit back another gasp when something very long and hard rocked right back into me.
“Jesus.”
His chuckle heated my neck. “No, just me, I’m afraid.”
“What are you packing back there, another bottle of tequila?” I couldn’t help but rotate my hips again. Apparently, Not Laney was a legitimate hussy.
“No bottle of anything, sweetheart. But glad to know you’re up for the challenge.”
His fingers slipped through the skirt’s opening, finding and stroking my upper thigh, then my hipbone. I felt the sharp intake of his breath.
“Good fucking god, little nymph.” That deep voice was even rougher now, as if he’d been shouting, not growling into my ear. “You’re not wearing any panties, are you?”
Some strange rhythm that had nothing to do with the music pulsating through the club coursed through me. “Maybe you should find out.”
Who was I?
I’d gotten a wax before this trip, planning for at least one day by the pool, but never dreamed it would be for a stranger’s hand slipping between my thighs in a public place.
Inches from the spot so neglected that I swore I could come right here, in a bar, in front of everyone, if his thumb merely grazed it.
A glass shattered somewhere down the bar. The stranger swore and replaced his hand at my waist, safely over my clothes. Quickly, he turned me in his arms, forcing me to face him fully for the first time.
Thank God I had the steel edge to hold on to, because holy hell. Megan was right. I looked up—and up, and up—into the most beautifully barbaric face I’d ever seen.
Dark, laughing eyes were ringed with fatigue that couldn’t just come from a hard day’s work.
That nose looked like it had been broken more than once, and that iron-chiseled jaw bore a few other scars that marred groomed stubble.
A wide, full mouth hooked to one side with a smirk that disappeared as soon as our eyes met.
We stared. Neither of us breathed.
Something passed between us. Something, which, like this stranger, I couldn’t name. Maybe didn’t even want to. Names were labels, and labels meant rules, and whatever was transpiring between the stranger and me didn’t want to be boxed any more than I did tonight.
Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just really good chemistry and too much alcohol.
Whatever it was, it made the world stop.
My hands rose to cup his face, stroke those full lips, frame the amused expression that was laced with something that looked like pain. He was frozen, not even breathing while I administered a gentle touch.
I couldn’t have said why, but he looked like he needed it.
“Ariadne,” he murmured.
I lifted a brow in answer. He was really leaning into the whole maenad thing, even if that wasn’t technically correct. Ariadne was Dionysus’s wife, not a crazed handmaiden. But now probably wasn’t the time for a lesson on one of my favorite Greek myths.
Then again, he did find me in a club called Naxos.
Did that make him Dionysus, the god who found Ariadne and married her?
I shivered.
The stranger cleared his throat, a poor attempt to break the spell. “We should—”
I stopped him with a yank on his lapel, pulling him down for a kiss.
Suddenly, I was desperate for this moment to continue, holding onto it with everything I had.
My whole life was built around the word “should.” My job, my obligations, even my previous relationship had all been about what I “should” do rather than what I wanted.
Right now, I wanted to want.
Tomorrow I would be regular Laney Fisher again. But tonight, I was a woman without a name.
Or maybe just the one he had given me.
The stranger grunted in surprise. And then he was kissing me right back.
With one hand in my hair, the other cinched around my waist, he slanted his mouth over mine to claim, to take everything I was offering and give it all back tenfold.
Our tongues wound together, lips locked in a frenzy, and it was everything I could do not to spread my legs right there and let him take me on the bar top.
There was nothing refined about this kiss. The savagery lurking under that suit should have scared me, but instead, it awakened something deeper. A craving. A need.
He was right the first time when he called me a maenad. This kiss was the definition of revelry. Hedonism at its core.
Whistles cut through the din. Cheers from other club goers, maybe even Megan and her friends. I didn’t hear them. Nothing existed beyond this stranger’s hands and mouth in what was unequivocally and inarguably the best kiss of my life.
Minutes—or maybe hours—later, we finally broke apart, gasping for air like we were taking our first breaths. His eyes were darker now, pupils blown wide. Every curl on his head had been ruined by my grip, and his lips were swollen as he rubbed them with one hand.
My stranger looked wrecked.
He looked perfect.
I wonder if he thought the same of me.
“Well, that was…” He cleared his throat, as if there was something stuck in it. “Christ, I don't even know your name.”
My cheeks heated under that hot gaze. “I think you gave me one, didn’t you?”
He seemed to stumble, though he wasn’t even walking. “Ariadne. Right.”
Then he smiled. A real smile, not a smirk. It transformed his entire face, softening his hard edges and lighting some of the shadows to render him younger. Almost vulnerable.
Almost.
He brushed a strand of hair from my face, and my skin tingled under that rough yet tender touch. “What do you say we get out of here?”
The answer should have been no. I needed to return to my best friend and the bridesmaids. Go back to being the dutiful daughter and maid of honor who got everyone else home safely. The one who didn’t leave nightclubs with nameless men or wear green silk dresses without underwear.
“Yes,” I said.
His smile was so wide, I thought my heart would burst, and for once, I wasn’t worried about it.
As the stranger led me through the crowd, I caught a glimpse of Megan and the others on the dance floor.
Her eyes popped open before she and the rest of the girls all gave me cheers and enthusiastic thumbs up.
Outside, the desert night air was still warm, but a breeze cooled my skin. A black Range Rover was idling at the curb, and to my surprise, the stranger opened the door for me.
“Your chariot, my lady.”
And that was the last thing I remembered before I woke up with a ring on my finger.